New Challenge: Epic 80s
This month's challenge features hundreds of fresh prompts from the bodacious decade of the 1980s.

Fingolfin is confused by the rumors that spread through the elven settlements of Beleriand like a wildfire. So is his daughter found and alive, or not? And what is this utter poppycock about Celegorm getting pregnant?

Celegorm and Aredhel ride towards the Aglon Pass through the rain.

“Come on.” Maedhros grabbed his hand and pulled him along down the path, both of them quickening their pace now, until the trees opened up into a wide meadow filled with flowers, bright yellow celandine and dandelions and sweet-scented pale chamomile mingling with cornflowers and irises. On the other side of it was a larger party than Maglor had ever seen in Lórien—five figures sitting in the grass. Huan barked again, and they all looked up. “It seems everyone has come to fetch us home,” Maedhros said, laughing, as all their brothers scrambled to their feet.
After years in Lórien, Maglor and Maedhros are ready to return to their family and to make something new with their lives--but to move forward, all of Fëanor's sons must decide how, or if, they can ever reconcile with their father.

...everyone here seemed to think Daeron should return to them equally unchanged, the same merry minstrel he had been long ago before the Girdle had been breached. He was yet a minstrel, and he was often merry, but he had seen and done so much that so many here could never even imagine. He had come very close to death more than once, and yet survived. He did not care what others might think of him, really—except for a select few—but it would be tiresome to be always catching them off guard, and his love for one of the sons of Fëanor would catch many very much off guard, he knew.
Daeron settles back in among his own people, travels to Tirion--and meets Fëanor.

Well, Fëanor frightened him. Fëanor frightened them all, still, in one way or another.
Fëanor's sons receive letters from him, and try to decide what to do.

In Valinor, little Tyelpë wakes up from a scary dream and braves the shadows to find his Atto, who will keep him safe from any monsters lurking in the dark.
(Inspired by a cut snippet from chapter 3 of my fic "but for the look in his eyes". It's not necessary to read that before reading this, however.)

Moments of reflection with Maglor as he comes to terms with grief. A collection of drabbles and other short writings to accompany One in the Deep Waters.

Maedhros finds that regret and pain do not end with death. But it does at last bring release from the oath and he can at last embark upon the long, hard road toward redemption.

As the Sons of Fëanor set their feet on the path to the sack of Doriath, Caranthir reflects on the characters of himself and his brothers and contemplates where the responsibility lies for their predicament.

In the end, the master of lies made the mistake of underestimating him.
A story of Celebrimbor, the last of the House of Fëanor in Middle-erath.

“Dior, son of Luthien,” Námo intones, “you do not belong in these halls. I will show you the way to where your path is meant to lead.”
Celegorm looks to Dior and tilts his head in curiosity at the defiant look being directed at Námo. “No,” Dior says, voice hard. “I feel no call to follow the path of men. I will stay in the halls with my kin.”
“I was not presenting it as a choice,” Námo says severely and Celegorm frowns. Sees Curufin across the room shaking his head and gesturing for Celegorm to join him. He thinks to but then looks at Dior again and gets distracted by the look on his face.
An animal backed into a corner, his mind supplies, glancing down at the way Dior’s fingers are beginning to press into Celegorm’s fëa from how hard he is gripping Celegorm’s wrist.
Dior bares his teeth. “I was not either."

Maedhros, eldest son of Feanor, is captured by Morgoth and chained to the cliffs of Thargorodrim by his order. There is no hope of rescue until his dearest friend appears. (one-shot)

They passed out of Lhûn and the wider coastline of Middle-earth opened up before his eyes. He had wandered those shores for centuries, and even now he felt the pull of that same wanderlust, and knew he would miss them for the rest of his life. Their wildness, the untamed waves, the rocky shores and the cliffs and the sandy beaches. The gulls, and the dunes, and the tide pools with their ever-changing denizens. Someone began to sing a song of farewell, and other voices took it up. He did not join them.
Maglor keeps a promise, and comes to Valinor, only to find the ghosts he thought he'd left behind are alive and waiting for him.

When Maedhros goes to parley with Morgoth’s army after Fëanáro’s death, Celebrimbor sneaks out to join him, and the consequences are dire.
Rated M for graphic violence (primarily torture). First three chapters were posted only on AO3 in 2024.

Completed.
"At least we have learned that the sons of Fëanor can die too." Nine POVs, one matter - a story about the kinslaying in Doriath.

Snippets of life of a midwinter in Fëanáro and Nerdanel's household in Valinor, during the Age of the Trees.
Prompts will be as follow, taken from the Midwinter Bingo card (board by AdmirableMonster) :
Family ; Carols and Singing ; Death and rebirth ; Candles ; Sledding
Promps taken from the Fluffy Bingo Card (board by DaughterofShadows):
Falling Asleep ; Hot Chocolate

It is Curufin who crafts the three gems. Starting with the one of fire.
Or: Curufin copes with grief in true Noldorin fashion.

This is a collection of true drabbles completed for the 'Four Words' drabble bingo card.

Created for the 'Geography/Maps/Places' prompt on the "Tolkien meta" bingo board, this is a collection of maps marked with the various people groups showing how they arrived and moved about Beleriand. This collection focuses specifically on the time from the arrival of the Teleri, Vanyar, and Noldor before they went to Aman up to the distribution of the various kingdoms after the Flight of the Noldor, when they arrived in Middle-earth and settled there.

An overview of the Sons of Fëanor and their role in Tolkien's Silmarillion writings

Blood wells to the surface, hot and sticky. It runs over Curufin’s hand and down Finrod’s neck, the smell almost overwhelming. Finrod thrashes when Curufin presses fabric against the wound with enough force that darkness dances along the edges of Finrod’s vision.
He is breathing harshly, and it sends pain lacing through him with every inhale, every exhale. His hands have found Curufin’s legs, his wrist, nails digging into fabric and soft skin.
Finrod would apologise, but he does not think that he has anything but curses and confessions within him.
Finrod gets hurt. Curufin does what he must.

His gaze, inevitably, is drawn back to Finrod, the marred beauty of him. It has not been Curufin who ruined him so—had not been Curufin who had dragged him out of Nargothrond and into the wolf’s den, who had let Finrod protect him with his life. And yet.
And yet it feels oddly fitting, that such a ruined thing should be Curufin’s.
Through careful manoeuvring and a few lucky coincidences, Curufin saves Finrod's life without having to admit to anything so humiliating as having emotions. Contrary to what one would expect, this does not make things all that much easier.
Alternatively: Curufin lies, Finrod lives, and somehow they do still manage to figure it out, for better or for worse.

Is is too much to ask for a day of peace?